


green for go, red for stop

by trqse



Category: One Piece
Genre: Depression, Dermatillomania, Gen, Hurt, Me projecting on the lovely zoro, Skin picking, how do i tag this!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trqse/pseuds/trqse
Summary: zoro tries real hard not to pick at his back since it's the only part of his body he doesn't want any scars on.
Kudos: 10





	green for go, red for stop

**Author's Note:**

> projecting on zoro Day 9385
> 
> I went big brain w this one
> 
> i wrote this all in one go! Forgive me for any sucky parts

Zoro is littered with scars. His body is a pattern of zigzags, crosses and lines. There are cuts that he's grown fond of over the years, cuts that will heal and he'll never see again, cuts he can't remember the story to, and cuts he never realises are there until he notices dried blood. The first one everyone but himself sees is the downwards strike on his left eye. But that's okay. He supposes it looks as cool or intimidating as Luffy and Usopp make it out to be anyway. Then there's the huge, terrible slash from his chest to his abdomen, across his gut, once a gaping gash. This one never goes unnoticed. He wears it proudly, now. Then there are countless other scars. And then some. Little pockmarks and little holes, next to small but sharp, diagonal scars. Next to big ones with old, faded hints of long-gone stitches, next to jagged patches of skin that are always lighter and darker than the skin on his back.

His back. It's pristine, smooth as boiled rock, untouched by blade or bullet. No matter how many times he breaks a sword, loses one, replaces one, he will have the reminder of a promise on him-- as long as it stays that way. But it's hard, sometimes. It really is. Often Zoro finds himself resisting the urge to peel, to pluck, to pick-- so he directs the attention of his hands elsewhere, away from the prize. His face, his arms, his legs, anywhere that isn't his back, is no stranger to harm, and his nails, kept short and even, do the thinking for him.

Sometimes he gives in, and his fingers go for his back without shame. He does his best to keep these instances minimal, and even takes care of the red, worn damage on his skin with supplies he steals when Chopper's not looking.

He knows it's a disservice to Kuina, a betrayal. Well, it's not as if he promised to have the cleanest back in the world. Even still, it's a betrayal to himself, his own ideals-- a wound to the back is a swordsman's shame. Months and years of care and concern wither away whenever Zoro, despite himself, lets his traitorous hands creep towards his nape, his shoulder blades, his spine. For that he feels guilt and anger. Hatred. He ruins everything for himself.

Still, it's not that bad either, because on some days he's content with sitting on the deck after a good party, pleasantly alone with his vices. He is a kind man after a good swig of booze. He can tell himself he's done hurting, and he can listen. Kuina will forgive him, and he will choose to be forgiven.

Then he wakes up to blinding daylight, back sore, head throbbing, scattered bottles of wine and beer gulped clean. His nails gritty and cold. And he wishes the spotted scars will fade, will never be seen for what they are: the tangible, undeniable proof of his neglect for his duty. And though he knows he is far from being a man close to God, he prays in his heart for the ugly, throbbing pink swells on his back to disappear. He prays.


End file.
